The Thing About Hermione
by Noelle Andrews
Summary: Title will change when I think of a better one. Might become PG-13 in the future, but Def. Ch. doesn't have anything in it. Summary's inside. RR & I'll return the favor!
1. Default Chapter

Well, so a new story is born. So...  
  
Main Characters (might change, depending on where the story goes): Hermione & Rochelle Milan  
  
Summary: This was inspired by the movie Uptowngirls. Hermione is overly organized and paranoid and Rochelle acts too young for her age and is also incredibly irresponsible (this takes place when Hermione's eight-years-old, except for some parts. Well, you'll see...). Let's put them together and see what happens...  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing and there won't be a disclaimer in the following chapters, so just remember that I'm a poor little girl who owns nothing of great value.  
  
A/N: This is my first try at a humorous-but-not-totally-random fic. PLEASE review if you read this. Love, hate it, really don't care, or something in between, REVIEW!  
  
A/N 2: Sorry if it sucks and isn't that funny...  
  
CHAPTER ONE  
  
"Ron. Harry. Stop fooling around and do your History of Magic essay! You'll never get it done then I'll end up writing it for you and you'll make me feel guilty then-"  
  
"Hermione, were you always like this?" Ron cut in, hoping to distract her and stop the lecture she was beginning to give them that they both knew would be seemingly interminable.  
  
"Like what?" said Hermione, slowly and ominously.  
  
-That lecture's not sounding so bad right now...- thought Ron.  
  
"Like...," Ron began, "overly stringent, motherly in an awfully annoying way, and so organized it's not even funny," he finished in all one breath. He swallowed and held his breath, waiting.  
  
To his surprise, Hermione laughed. "Yes and no."  
  
This confused Ron. "What do you mean 'yes and no'? You either were or you weren't."  
  
"I used to be worse."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes, really."  
  
"That unimaginable."  
  
"Well-"The conversation was cut short when someone entered the Gryffindor common room. It was a woman with long blonde hair that reached past the middle of her back. Her face was kind of pointed, not unlike Malfoy's, but slightly softer. There was a luminous smile on her face that showed off her white teeth and full lips. But among those things wasn't the most prominent and amazing thing about her. It was her eyes. They were a bright purple that seemed impossible for human eyes to have.  
  
Ron and Harry looked suspiciously at the woman. She was too old to be a student yet didn't look like any teacher they had ever seen. To their surprise, the woman spoke to Hermione,  
  
"You really don't remember me do you?"  
  
"I'm sorry, but I really don't."  
  
"Well, I sure do remember you Little Missy Miss Perfect." Hermione's eyes widened at this.  
  
"Elle?" The woman's smile, Elle's smile, grew and the two females shared an exchange of girlish squeals, incomprehensible comments, and hugs. This topped off the out-of-the-ordinary events happening in the common room. Not that a sixteen-year-old boy being pursued by the Dark Lord that has a friend who knows everything about everything and a friend that's incredibly skilled at chess, both of which saved his life, isn't a little out-of-the- ordinary. But this little bit between this Elle person and Hermione was _way_ out-of-the-ordinary.  
  
(A/N: Sorry if that bit makes absolutely no sense to you...)  
  
"These are my friends Harry and Ron. Elle, Harry and Ron. Harry and Ron, Elle. It's weird, I was just about to tell them about you."  
  
"I see. Why don't I help you out there?" Harry and Ron were now officially totally lost. What else did they need to know about Elle? They didn't need a life story or anything.  
  
"Harry, Ron, It's about time you knew something about me."

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A/N: Sow, how's that? Sorry, this chapter is a little short and boring, but it'll get better, promise. Now, go and review!


	2. Chapter 1

**The Thing About Hermione**

Noelle Andrews

CHAPTER 1: So Sorry to Burst Your Bubble... NOT!

_BRING! BRING! BRING!_

_It's too early, I don't wanna wake up..._

_BRING! BRING! BRIIIIIIIING!_

_Ah, just lemme sleep!_

_BRIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGGGGG!!! WAKE UP ROCHELLE!!!_

Rochelle groaned and slammed her fist down on the snooze bar, muttering about the stupid alarm clock that her stupid sister got her so someone was always there to yell at her when she wasn't.

She was no longer comfortable in the position she was in and rolled over, pulling the blankets closer to her... and fell on the floor with a loud "_THUMP!"._

She didn't notice, though, by that time she was once again fast asleep. But not for long. There was one, and only one, thing that could really wake her up. And that one thing was standing on her front porch.

_KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!_

As Rochelle was edging into consciousness, she could hear a fist slamming against her front door. The sound was muffled, for she was covered with several expensive blankets. She hoped the sound had been imagined because she knew exactly who was hammering away at her front door at five in the morning.

Rochelle cringed at the sound of her feared sister's voice mingled with the sound of jingling keys.

"Rochelle I know you're awake and I'm coming in right now! You better be dressed!"

As she heard the clicking of high heels on the wooden floor, Rochelle was fully awake. She shivered as her blankets were yanked from her. Still, she lay still, hopelessly wishing her sister, Vanessa, would think she died and leave her house forever.

Rochelle's ear was viciously yanked and she yelped and stood immediately. So much for the fake death.

Of course, she hadn't dressed yet, so she stood before Vanessa, who had on a smart gray dress suit, black high heels, and her hair in a neat French twist; in a long blue nightgown, makeup from yesterday smeared across her face and hair a blonde tangled mess.

"Ugh, Rochelle Tiffany Milan, you will never learn, will you?" Vanessa looked through a drawer, "tsk"ing at the state of many a robe and folding clothes that had been haphazardly stuffed in the drawer. After a short while she emerged with a set of light green robes in hand. She forcefully shoved them at Rochelle and went through her closet for shoes.

Rochelle pulled her nightgown over her head, threw it on the ground, and pulled the green one on. Vanessa came back with tan step-ins and busied herself with neatening Rochelle's robes. With a final tug of a sleeve, she let herself take in the condition of her sister. Sighing, she went about fixing the messy makeup.

"Rochelle, what would you do without me?"

"Hmm, let's think," Rochelle put a finger to her lips in mock consideration, "First, I'd rejoice because I wouldn't have a Missy Miss Perfect to act my mother, then I'd go through your closet and borrow those cute purple shoes you won't ever let me touch, and the-"

"That was a rhetorical question, dumb butt," Vanessa cut in.

"Oh really, never would have guessed," Rochelle replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Vanessa rolled her eyes and grabbed one of Rochelle's many combs and went about brushing her hair.

"OW! Geez, I'm not your Barbie doll, so careful, Cruella!" Rochelle exclaimed as Vanessa yanked at a particularly large knot. She ignored the comment.

Finally, pulling Rochelle's hair into a half-ponytail and clipping it in place, Vanessa took in her handiwork.

"Now go floo to work, don't be late. I made your lunch for you since I know that you obviously didn't. Eat the carrots, don't throw them away, they're good for you."

"Yesh, Mommy, and waiter on can we hold hands while cwossing the stweet and sing Barney songs?! Vanessa, I'm twenty-one, I don't need you to be my mother."

Muttering, Vanessa pushed Rochelle to the fireplace and threw some floo powder into the flames.

Rochelle grabbed the brown bag and stepped in, saying in a bored voice, "16 Falcon Drive," and waving goodbye to her sister.

* * *

At that exact same time and not too far away, eight-year-old Hermione Granger was sitting neatly by herself eating a perfectly balanced breakfast. Once the last bit of orange juice was drunk and she had delicately dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a laced napkin (which she folded precisely and put in its proper place, of course), Hermione put an "x" in the box next to "breakfast".

She dressed herself flawlessly, not a wrinkle or fold in sight. Hermione had on a white dress, as white is a symbol of cleanliness, as her mother always said; and she had sandals to match. Grabbing her lunch box, after dusting nonexistent dirt off the front of her dress, she walked out the front door, careful to pull her sleeve over her hand before touching the doorknob.

* * *

Rochelle tumbled out the fireplace of 16 Falcon Drive. One lone woman sat at the table, eating breakfast with her back facing Rochelle.

"Hello, Elle," the woman said, not turning.

"Hey Belle!" Rochelle answered cheerily.

"Mrs. Wagtail 1 to you, Elle," she answered automatically. Rochelle playfully stuck out her tongue at Mrs. Wagtail's back.

"I saw that," Mrs. Duke answered, still not turning.

"Scary, woman, scary," Rochelle muttered, grabbing her guitar and opening the door to the garage.

She hopped through the doorway, dramatically throwing her arms wide open and throwing her head back. "Hello, Weird Sisters, I've come to save the show! Worship me later; we have some work to do."

Excluding Rochelle, nobody in the garage moved. Nobody smiled, nobody greeted her.

"What?" Rochelle asked, dropping her pose.

"Elle," Myron, the beautiful raven-haired lead singer, stepped around the mike stand to look Rochelle in the eye. "Elle," she repeated, "You were late today. Again."

"Not a big deal," Rochelle said with a shrug.

"We've already practiced all three of the new songs and started on writing another."

"I know my part and I'll even write out the rest of the new song."

"You're never presentable at performances."

"The talent's important, not the look."

"In the middle of a song, you always end up tweaking your part or taking a solo."

"Don't matter much, all you gotta do is listen and follow along."

"You're an attention-hogger after shows."

"Oooh, jealous, are we?"

"No, Elle," Myron put a hand to her face. "You just don't get it, do you? You're a great guitarist and all and you're one of my closest friends, but Elle," she paused to sigh deeply, "we are going nowhere with you hanging around. We're really sorry. I'll recommend you to anyone I hear from, but you can't play with us anymore. We've got Kirley Duke 1 now and we expect a lot from him. He's a great guitarist and you are to, but Elle... you gotta go."

"To make things short," Orsino, the mouthy blonde drummer, cut in, "You fired, leave, _so _sorry to burst your bubble," he paused to blow a raspberry, "...not."

Rochelle didn't know what to do. She stood dumbly for a few moments, before asking timidly, "You mean... you don't want me anymore?"

"_No_," Orsino said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

It only took another few moments before Rochelle got her confidence back.

"Fine." Rochelle hoisted the guitar higher on her back before saying again, "fine!"

"Perfectly fine. I don't need you. I can make money plenty of other ways; I don't need to borrow either. Me and this guitar will be on the front cover of a platinum album! Don't worry, I'll mention you when they want an E! True Story 2! This guitarist is leaving you forever, and when you pathetic group come cryin' ta me, there's no way, no how, I'm playing for you ever again!"

While storming to the open garage door, she yelled things like "platinum album!" and "E! True Story!" and waving her fist in the air.

"Um, Elle?" Myron asked.

"Yes, traitor," Elle shot at her, angrily lifting her eyebrows.

"Er, it's only going to be you on your front cover. The guitar's mine, remember? I paid for it, you only play it."

Elle couldn't come up with a retort, so instead dropped the red guitar to the ground and kicked a nearby cardboard box.

"GOOD BYE!" To add a little more drama she had slammed the door behind her. It would have worked a lot better if her index finger hadn't gotten caught and she had yelped. But, Rochelle being Rochelle, she tried again and got it right.

Defiantly, she forcefully pointed to the garage door and shouted "HA!" before throwing out a "WON'T see you later, _Mrs. Wagtail_" and stepping out of the house, slamming the front door behind her.

* * *

Hermione was on the sidewalk, on her way to school, and ever so careful not to step in gum or dirt, when she heard a door slam. Her head snapped up immediately and a blur of green and blonde came right at her. Girl and woman collided and both fell to the pavement.

"Watch where you're going, lady! This dress was dry cleaned yesterday and I plan on keeping it clean. Ugh, and you ruined my lunch; it was arranged perfectly in my lunch box until you came along."

"Woah, kid, you got some problems. And leave me be, I just lost ma job," Rochelle backed up a bit and held up her hands defensively.

"Oh, that's too bad. What were you, a famous pianist?" Hermione asked sarcastically. "Anyone with your coordination couldn't have done any better than being janitor. And that must even be a little difficult for you. Oh, and also, you use very improper grammar and pronunciation; you should've used 'have' instead of 'got' and 'my' instead of 'ma' "

"Pianist, no, guitarist, yes. Janitor? I'm insulted. And I'll use my grammar the way I wanna," Rochelle said with her hands on her hips and her head angrily bobbing to her words.

"Ugh, you're a disgrace to the human race. I hope to never see you again," Hermione finally said, dusting herself off a final time and continuing her walk to school.

"Well, ditto!" Rochelle shouted after her, "I couldn't have put it better myself, or've used such great grammar skills, psh!"

Hermione walked on as if she heard nothing and Rochelle turned on her heel and walked in the opposite direction.

* * *

1: Mrs. Wagtail is Myron's mother, just in case you were wondering...

2: I know that Kirley Duke was supposed to be the lead guitarist all along, but let's just take it for granted that Rochelle never really became well-known and that's why she's not mentioned. And, see, everything goes according to year.

3: I'm not quite sure if E! True Story was around yet (believe it or not, I don't watch a whole lot of television), but, well, in this story it does. So, I sorta lied about everything going according to year, but not _really._

A/N: Okay, so I know I'm not a great writer, and this story isn't chock full of witty humor, but that's what sites like this are for, right? Therefore, review and tell me how I can do better, what you'd like to see, or just because. ï 


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